


Appearance

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Being Walked In On, Established Relationship, Groping, M/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The look on Akane’s face should have been enough warning." Akane has very few boundaries and Clay proves easy to distract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appearance

The look on Akane’s face should have been enough warning. In Clay’s defense, Akane  _usually_  looks like a cat considering a particularly tasty bowl of cream when he looks at his weapon, and the blond can’t feasibly  _always_  be on edge. But Clay’s also not particularly good at on-the-spot intuition, and he’s not  _really_  paying attention, so he doesn’t see speculative pleasure shade into actual decision in the moment before Akane gets to his feet with deceptive calmness.

“Need any help?” he asks. His voice is perfectly innocuous, doesn’t trigger any of Clay’s warning bells, so he responds like he’s talking to a  _normal_  person instead of his perpetually confusing meister.

“I think I’ve got it.” He does, too. The loop of the apron is easy to manage, and the ties are clip-on rather than proper bow ties, for which Clay is deeply grateful. There’s a lot of different pieces to the cafe’s uniform but none of them are particularly complicated, so it’s really just a matter of following directions in the right order, which Clay is capable of handling. He tugs his vest into place, straightens his shoulders, and looks up to where Akane is waiting by the door.

The meister is leaning against the door itself, angled back so he’s supported more by the press of his shoulders against the wood than by his own feet, and his chin is tipped down so far he’s looking out over the top of his glasses at Clay. That  _is_  enough to stall Clay’s motions, enough for him to start saying, “Akane, wait, we have to --” even before Akane licks his lower lip with absolutely unnecessary care.

Clay knows he’s lost, then, even if Akane wasn’t his meister and even if he were capable of ever refusing the other boy anything. That slow motion catches his gaze, drags his eyes along with the shift of the meister’s tongue, and by the time Akane straightens from the door and starts to come forward Clay knows he’s seen, knows that  _Akane_  knows he has him.

He still tries to form a protest. It’s more habit at this point than that he thinks it will achieve anything, but there is something to be said for routine, for at least an  _attempt_  at propriety. “Akane, we’re at work, someone could come in.”

Akane’s eyebrows pull together in confusion and he tips his head, blinks innocently at Clay while his long fingers are tracing out the top edge of Clay’s black vest. “Sorry, are you trying to  _dissuade_  me with that?”

“You are such an exhibitionist,” Clay protests, but it’s weak already, Akane hasn’t even really  _touched_  him yet. “I don’t know what to do with you, Akane.”

“Mm,” Akane hums, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. Clay doesn’t pull away when the meister leans in to brush his mouth over the corner of the weapon’s, just shuts his eyes and tries very hard to keep resisting the draw of Akane’s lips so close to his. It’s hard to begin with, harder when Akane purrs, “I have a few ideas,” so even when Clay manages a strangled “ _Akane_ ” he sounds more desperate than shocked.

“I don’t know what you’re so stressed about,” Akane says. He’s not pulling away but he’s not moving any closer, either, so every word just barely ghosts over Clay’s skin, his lips catch on the weapon’s skin and drag free immediately. “It’s not like I’m going to go down on you or anything.” He smiles, Clay can  _feel_  him smile, and the blond groans and gives up entirely, turns in and reaches out so his hands skid over the smooth fabric of Akane’s own vest.

The meister is expecting him to break, tips his head smoothly as Clay twists towards his mouth so their lips fit together, and Akane’s tongue is in Clay’s mouth and Akane’s fingers are under his clothes and Clay isn’t sure what’s happening anymore and doesn’t care. With his hands against Akane’s waist he can feel the step forward the meister takes before the hand sliding down to his hip pushes him backwards, and he’s not expecting the wall at his back but the support is welcome, particularly when the fingers catching at the waistband of his pants slide in and down.

“Oh  _god_ ,” he gasps without pulling away from Akane’s mouth, and that just sounds raw, now. Akane laughs so low it’s almost a moan itself, slides his knee in between Clay’s and pins the weapon up against the wall at his back. “Akane, you said --”

“Do I look like I’m going down on you?” Akane asks, coming down along Clay’s jawline and biting gently at the blond’s throat. “If you’ve forgotten what that’s like maybe I should show you again. Just to refresh your memory.”

“Akane,” Clay whimpers, not sure if he’s protesting or begging for more, and then Akane does something inexplicable with his wrist and his fingers are against bare skin. Clay has  _no_  idea how the meister pulled that off while leaving the blond’s clothes on but Akane’s fingers are finishing what his kisses started, pulling Clay to full hardness under the calculated slide of the meister’s fingertips. They can’t  _do_  anything, not really -- at least Clay’s  _pretty_  sure Akane won’t jerk him off in the back room of the Cafe -- but he can’t make himself make Akane stop, and when he shifts his leg against the meister Akane groans and grinds against the pressure. At least Clay’s not the only one who’s going hazy and irrational with want.

“Fuck,” he offers, and Akane chokes a laugh that is incoherent agreement. Clay tightens his grip on Akane’s waist, drags the meister in harder against him by his hold, and Akane arches his back and reaches out to brace his free hand on the wall, and for a minute Clay is absolutely certain that they  _are_ going to do this, Akane is going to jerk him off and get himself off against Clay’s leg, and he can’t be more than vaguely interested in what will happen afterward.

That is, of course, when the door opens.

Clay has no idea how Akane moves so fast. Maybe the meister heard footsteps, wasn’t as distracted by the gasp of Clay’s breathing in his ear as the weapon was by Akane’s teeth at his neck. Maybe he’s just got incredible reflexes to counteract how shell-shocked slowly Clay reacts. The how doesn’t matter that much; what matters is that Akane is turning, both his hands innocently visible and his legs entirely untangled from the weapon’s, so when Master clears his throat from the doorway they look more like they’ve just been kissing and less like Akane had his fingers on Clay’s cock seconds before.

Clay is still trying to process the situation when Akane speaks. “Ah. Sorry.” He clears his throat, ducks his head in a really impressive approximation of someone who ever feels shame. “We were just...changing.”

Master’s eyebrows go up and he glances at Clay. The weapon blinks, swallows, tries to look more flushed with embarrassment and less like he’s painfully hard under the thankfully concealing apron. He’s not sure he’s successful, but the older man is fighting back a smile in any case so they’re probably safe from getting fired or arrested for indecent exposure, though the threat of death from blushing is very real for at least Clay.

“Straighten your clothes and come out,” is all Master says. The amusement at the corner of his mouth is totally absent from his voice, for which Clay is deeply grateful. He’s certain he can’t handle any more teasing today from anyone.

Akane nods, as Clay is totally incapable of doing anything but turning crimson as rapidly as possible, and the older man disappears again, shutting the door behind him. Clay knows Akane’s going to be grinning when he turns back around, is just saying, “Akane,  _don’t_ , oh my god,” even before he sees the sparkle in the meister’s eyes as the other boy glances at him.

“Your vest is crooked,” Akane says.  _He_  sounds amused, he sounds like he’s about to laugh, which is  _doubly_  frustrating because he somehow looks perfectly pulled together, cool and calm and steady even though Clay doesn’t yet trust his feet to hold him. “And you have a bruise.” He lifts his hand to his own neck, brushes his fingers against his throat to indicate the teethmarks he left on Clay’s.

“Yeah,  _thanks_ ,” the weapon manages to say, even pulling some irritation into the words in spite of the shake in his voice.

Akane bites his lip, glances down Clay’s body, and Clay knows the meister can’t  _actually_  see that the weapon is still hard but he blushes anyway, self-consciousness giving him away more than his actual body does.

“I’m sorry,” Akane says, the words lacking any teasing at all for once. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.” He looks up at Clay’s face without lifting his head so he’s looking through the shadow of his hair, and Clay knows the meister is forgiven even as he tries to hold onto his frustration.

“You had  _better_ ,” he finally says, since he can’t manage to be properly angry.

Akane grins, purrs, “Oh, I  _will_ ,” and Clay can’t do anything but laugh weakly while he pulls his vest into some sort of order.

After all, Akane  _always_  make it worthwhile, in the end.


End file.
